A place for my thoughts as I live the Sacrament of Marriage and live this Army Wife Life. Here lies my story. Of marriage, Army training, deployments, and moves. While I work hard to Hold Down the Homefront with pride for my Soldier and stability for our children.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

It was in the dark, isolating, "middle of the night" hours when the
thought struck me. I was lying awake, as the precious newborn began to
stir for her next feeding, and my four year old was enduring yet another
coughing fit.

"You are only moving foward. Not backwards. You'll never get this time back."

It scared me to the core of my being.

The
husband and I (mostly the husband) have been organizing all of our
digital files, predominantly pictures right now. We are looking at
photos and videos from the time we both dove into the digital camera
world. Mine began on the cusp of my college graduation, and his encompassed
his European adventures while a bachelor Soldier. We were in two very
different parts of the world, living two very different lives.

Then,
our pictures slowly began to mesh. Duplicates images, taken from
different perspectives. One wonderful day, those perspectives
became one perspective when we went from two cameras to one. From
dates and day trips to everyday life together, the subjects changed,
too.

And not long after, they captured Life. In its
truest and tiniest form. Babies. Born in the wee hours of mornings,
after many hours of work and worry. Babies. Who looked to us for
security, food, warmth. Babies. That turned into toddlers and then
preschoolers.

Time moves only in one direction. Forward. There is no rewind. And, more painfully, no pause. Only forward.

They've
been so sick this week, the older two. Fevers, aches, pains, coughs,
sneezes. Screams and thrashing. Trips to their bedsides every thirty
minutes through the night, while feeding a newborn. Trips to the E.R. I feel as though
I've been running between them with thermometers and medicine all week.
Lying awake at night, listening to the cough with the horrible truth
that I cannot do anything to alleviate their discomfort. Focusing only
on what I can handle--making it through one day. Praying they'll be
better tomorrow.

Last Friday, I celebrated 5 amazing,
blessed years to my wonderful husband. Even a year off from that day, I
pictured in my head wonderful plans. Five years is a milestone. A
small one, but a milestone nonetheless. I was so excited. We had
reservations at a very nice restaurant. I had a pretty dress picked
out. Presents bought. Plans made.

As I raced
through the week taking care of sick babes, my Friday night went from a
much anticipated break to the realization that, sadly, we were going to
be staying home.

But, despite the setbacks, it was beautiful. Quiet, relaxed. Still a celebration.

Because I won't get this back. These moments with my husband on the couch, just talking, will never be lived again. Those moments smoothing back matted hair from a feverish and sweaty tiny forehead will never be present again. Only past. The countless trips to the bassinet to once again reinsert the pacifier into that little mouth. Past. Little becomes big. Small grows larger and larger. Babies become toddlers become kids. And then they grow up.

And
all we will have left are those pictures. Those videos. Those tiny
views into a world, into a present that has become a past. No more baby
smells. No more raspy, sickly I love you, Mommys in the middle of the night. No more stolen hugs and kisses from sleeping little ones on the way to bed at night. No more temperature readings, pleadings to take just one more sip, demands to stop fighting--again. No more laughs and giggles, smiles and grins from tiny faces.

So, today, as tired as I am, as exhausted as I am, I find joy in the seemingly endless trips into their bedroom to stave off more coughing, to love them through the fever, warm them through the chills. I treasure the hours spent by their side, comforting them through the aches and pains.

Because someday, this will all be gone. All I will have left are the memories. The Past.